


Babydoll

by honeymandos



Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, triple frontier - Fandom
Genre: Biker AU, F/M, Fluff, creepy men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymandos/pseuds/honeymandos
Summary: You meet a kind man after getting stranded on the side of the road.
Relationships: Francisco Morales x Reader - Relationship, Frankie Morales x Reader, Frankie Morales x You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Babydoll

“Shit!” You shout, throwing your cellphone on the seat of your sputtering car in frustration. Your car had broken down suddenly, coming to a complete stop at the side of the road. Better yet, your phone was dead and there was no houses in sight, save for the sketchy bar on the corner of the road. You stuff your phone back in your pants pocket with a huff, storming down to the bar. 

It wasn’t as bad as you expected inside, but there was no phone on the wall, much to your dismay. You groan and run a hand through your hair, shaking your head. At this rate, you’ll be stranded for the night. 

The bar was dirty and bartered, filled with people who looked about the same. Men with beards and leather jackets were perched on the stools, hitting on women with the dresses so tight you were sure their ability to breathe was at least slightly hindered. To say it wasn’t your scene was an understatement, but you needed to borrow somebody’s cell and call an Uber. Otherwise you’d have to walk all the way home, which was absolutely not an option.

You spot a younger man in the corner, with jet black hair slicked out of his eyes. He didn’t look exactly trustworthy, but he didn’t look threatening, either. You figured he was the best you could do. 

“Excuse me?” You ask him, tapping on his shoulder. He turns to you, lips pulled up in a snarl until he scans your body. It quickly morphs into a slimy smirk, his hand finding its way to his jacket pocket. 

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he drawls with a wink. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, knowing you’ll have to play nice in order to get what you want. 

“Hey,” you respond, clearing your throat. “I was just wondering—“ 

“Can I buy you a drink, baby?” He interjects. You frown in annoyance, shaking your head. 

“I—“ 

“Come on now,” he continues, his body beginning to crowd yours. “Just one can’t hurt, can it?” 

“I’m really not here for that.” 

He tsks and flits his tongue out to wet his lips, gesturing his head over to the bar. 

“C’mon. Just one.”

You begin backing away from him, realizing that he clearly isnt the kind of man you’d like to be helping you. 

You aren’t watching as you move away from him, though, your back colliding with that of a much taller, larger man. You spin around to look at him, his frame nearly towering over you. 

His eyes flicker from you to the other man, one hand coming to rest on your shoulder. 

“Hey, man, what’s going on?” He asks the black-haired man. He shakes his head and scowls, looking away and pointedly refusing to answer. 

The larger man looks down to you, his eyes surprisingly soft. You should’ve gone to him first— he’s practically radiating kindness and warmth, despite his exterior. 

“You okay?” He asks quietly. You nod and shift towards him a little more, looking wearily to the other man. 

“What’s your name?” He questions. You look up and offer a tired smile, just ready to go home by now. You tell it to him quietly, earning a small little hum. 

“My car broke down up by 7th,” you explain, leaning against the wall of the dingy little bar. “I came here to try and find a phone so I could call a car, but no luck.”

His face becomes thoughtful for a moment before he hesitantly juts his thumb to point behind him, towards the exit of the bar. 

“I’ve got a bike out front. It’s not much, but I could take you home.” 

You peer behind him at the door, a little uneasy at the thought of being driven home by a perfect stranger. He seemed kind, yes, but you could never know. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say reluctantly, shifting from foot to foot. The man nods in understanding, pulling out his cell. 

“I get it. Thought I might offer it up, anyway. You can use my phone to call someone if you want,” he replies. You almost reconsider at his tone, the way he understood your fear. You knew it sounded stupid, but he… he didn’t seem scary, or bad. He seemed like someone you could trust, at least to take you home on the back of his bike. 

“I… I mean. I wouldn’t be opposed to that ride. Might be, uh, less money than the Uber.”   
He smiled brightly, his eyebrows raising. 

“Really? ‘S always an option,” he challenges, once again holding the phone out to you. You shake your head, a small smile growing on your lips. 

“Okay. Well, we can leave now— if that’s alright with you.” 

You nod and follow him out of the bar, grateful to not have to breathe in the stuffy air anymore. He shows you his bike, walking over and patting it like a proud dad.

“She works really well, y’know. Got her for sale a few years back.” 

“Oh yeah?” You say, running your fingers over the shiny metal. He makes a noise of acknowledgement, nodding silently. 

“Have you ever ridden a bike before?” He asks curiously, removing his helmet from where it was perched on the handle and tucking it under his arm.

You flush red and shake your head no, looking apprehensively back to the seat of the bike. He chuckles lightly and holds out the helmet to you. 

“I’ll have you wear the helmet, then. Gotta stay safe,” he says kindly. The gesture is almost sweet, his hands placing the slightly too large helmet atop your head. 

You grin and adjust it a bit, making sure it won’t fall off.   
He clambers onto the bike and pats the empty bit of seat behind him, looking over his shoulder at you. 

“Just sit here, and hold my waist really tight, okay?” 

“O-okay,” you say, nerves beginning to root in the pit of your stomach. You had no idea how good this man was at driving, or if he was good at all. You wind your arms around his waist gingerly, your cheek pressed into the leather jacket on his back. He revs up the engine, looking back to you again before leaving. 

“You alright?” He shouts over the loud roaring of the engine. You simply respond with a nod, squeaking lightly when the bike surges forward. 

Once you’re on the road, it’s almost peaceful, the wind whipping through your hair and his warm back pressed to your chest. It’s a stark contrast to the bitter chill of the air, his body practically a radiator. He looks over his shoulder at you periodically, making sure you’re okay. 

“Where do you live?” He asks once he’s in town, stopped in front of a traffic light to let you speak. You clear your throat and explain where to go, a small nod from him being the only indicator that he heard you.

He pulls up on your street and slows the engine, the motorcycle moving at a slow pace as you inch down the street. 

“You can stop here,” you say, patting his chest. He kills the engine and looks back to you, climbing off the bike and holding his hand out to help you get off. You take it, blushing at the gentle nature of his touch. 

He looks around as you take off the helmet, his eyes flirting back over to yours.

“Which one is it?” He asks, clearly trying to figure it out. You point to the small one-person house with the garden in the front and the circular kitchen window. He smiles softly when his eyes rest on it— he should’ve been able to tell. It’s soft, kind of like you. 

He walks you up to the door, lingering on your doorstep for a moment before awkwardly clearing his throat. 

“It, um— do you need help getting back to the road? I mean, to get your car? Tomorrow?” He asks. He sounds almost nervous, his feet shuffling. You smile and nod, leaning against the doorway. 

“What’s your number?” You ask, pulling your phone from your pocket where you had stowed it previously. You hand it to him and watch as he types his contact info in, his hand briefly brushing against yours when he hands it back. 

“Frankie Morales,” you read, scanning the information he put in. He chuckles and brings a hand to the back of his head, rubbing his neck a little. 

“Yeah. I, uh… I’ll call you, okay?” He says. You can’t quell the butterflies in your stomach at his nervous tone, an involuntary smile finding its way to your face. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, pausing momentarily. “Thank you.” 

Frankie sticks both hands in his pockets, shaking his head slightly. 

“No big deal. Get some sleep,” he suggests, turning around with a small little wave and making his way back to his parked bike. 

You sigh and close the door behind him, leaning your back against it. 

You could already tell you were going to fall for him.


End file.
